


Red

by costumejail



Series: Hyper Thrust Pride Week [2]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Cliffhangers, First Aid, Gen, Knife Wounds, Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), One Shot, Stabbing, like i wrote things and gagged PLEASE be careful if blood bothers you, seriously laying on the blood and first aid tags i cannot stress enough that this one is bloody, ties in with the black/brown prompt but can be read separate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24638152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/costumejail/pseuds/costumejail
Summary: Fun Ghoul comes back to the diner.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul & Party Poison (Danger Days)
Series: Hyper Thrust Pride Week [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779970
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> Day two of [@Killjoynest](killjoynest.tumblr.com)'s Hyper Thrust Pride Week. The prompt was 'Red'.
> 
> PLEASE I cannot stress this enough this one is entirely first aid and blood and there is a cliffhanger ending. If any of that bothers you then don't read it, it's not worth it. Take care of yourself.

Poison had been seeing red so frequently since Ghoul left that they were barely surprised to step into the dining room and see the colour spreading across the floor. It was only when their foot made an unpleasant squelching sound as they stepped into the puddle that they realized it wasn’t, in fact, a manifestation of their bad mood. They slowly lifted their gaze, first taking in the size of the pool of what they recognized as blood, then the stained blade of a knife, then a boot caked in dark red sand. 

Wearing the boot was a killjoy that Party Poison very much recognized. In the weeks that Fun Ghoul had been gone, he’d clearly had a rough time. His hair, normally tied back in twin braids, was loose and knotted, he was sunburned, uncomfortably thin-looking, and had gained a menagerie of bruises. But Poison pushed these minor changes aside in their mind as they took in the blood that soaked Ghoul’s jeans. Scattered around Ghoul were the contents of the diner’s medkit, and a threaded needle lay next to Ghoul’s limp hand. As if he’d been about to stitch the wound shut himself. He was slumped against a bench booth, his head drooping forward over his chest. And he wasn’t moving.

Poison’s first instinct was to shout for Jet Star, but the words died in his throat as he remembered that Jet wasn’t in the diner. They’d finally had enough of Poison’s bad mood, loading the Girl onto their bike and telling Poison to “call me when you’ve taken your head out of your ass.” The Kobra Kid had taken his own bike out to search for Ghoul, again, and Cherri Cola was on a run to zone one. 

Party Poison was alone, and Fun Ghoul wasn’t moving.

It seemed like it took an eternity for Poison to grasp the situation at hand. But once they had, they threw themself into action. Two steps carried them to Ghoul’s side and they crashed to their knees, fumbling for his head, tilting it back, and feeling desperately for a pulse. After a heart-stopping minute, they found it. Ghoul’s pulse was present but weaker than Poison had ever felt a pulse be, and they didn’t even think of breathing a sigh of relief. Not while Ghoul wasn't moving. 

None-too-gently, Poison undid Ghouls jeans and slid them down his legs. At the sight of the wound in Ghoul’s thigh, Poison took a deep breath to calm their gag reflex. It wasn’t very large, Poison guessed that the knife blade on the floor of the diner would match the cut exactly, but it was deep. Poison pressed lightly on the wound and blood oozed from the cut, deep red and hot. It coated their hands and they instinctively wiped them off on their jeans. A steadying breath later, Poison reached for the needle that lay on the floor, dumped alcohol over it and prepared to stitch Ghoul’s leg up. The needle had just touched Ghoul’s leg when Poison remembered to disinfect the wound. They dumped more of the alcohol over the cut and dabbed it dry with the edge of their shirt. 

Ghoul didn’t move. Knowing too well the pain of alcohol in a wound, it hit Poison how dire the situation was. His hands began to tremble as he stitched the wound, but he knew that there was no time to calm down anymore. The only blessing was that the wound was, at least in surface area, small, and barely needed three stitches. Poison had never done stitches, but there was no time to call someone else to do them. Not while Ghoul laying bleeding out on the floor. The stitches were messy and uneven, jaggedly holding the skin together as blood beaded out from the seam. Once the stitches were in place, Poison dashed to the bedroom and grabbed his radio.

“Pony.” Poison’s voice shook as they spoke into their radio. They returned to Ghoul’s side and pressed on Ghoul’s leg with a balled-up towel as they waited for Show Pony’s reply. The towel turned red slowly, and Poison wasn't sure if that meant the bleeding was stopping, or that Ghoul was running out of blood.

Within a minute, the radio chirped with a transmission, and Show Pony’s voice rang out, “And to who do I have the pleasure of speakin’ with?”

“Pony, it’s Ghoul. I-”

“That’s funny, it doesn’ sound much like him.”

“No. Fuck- I- It’s Poison, Ghoul came back and-” Poison cursed as Pony cut him off again.

“Oh thank the Witch! Where was he?”

“Stop fuckin’ interruptin’ me. I’m tryin’ t’ tell you that Ghoul needs help.”

Pony must have finally noticed the distress in Poison’s tone because their light tone vanished in their next transmission, “Party, deep breath. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I stitched ‘im up but he’s not wakin’ up. He musta gotten stabbed and there’s blood  _ everywhere _ and he’s not wakin’ up. Witch, Pony, he’s  _ not waking up.”  _ Eyes blurring, Poison hunched forward with a sob and the radio fell to the floor with a clatter.

“I’ll be there as fast as I can. Pois- Just hang tight.”

Poison closed their eyes, hoping,  _ praying, _ that when they opened them the blood would vanish, they’d see Ghoul’s familiar smile, hear his laugh, pull him into a hug and beg for forgiveness for kicking him out of the diner over  _ nothing. _ But the smell of blood was strong in their nostrils and the only sound in the diner was the crackle of static from the forgotten radio.

When Poison opened their eyes, all they saw was red.

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Yeah. I'm thinking I'm gonna try and keep this storyline up through the whole prompt week (or until I decide it's resolved) so assuming I'm not exhausted after work there will be more tomorrow so don't worry too much ab Ghoul.  
> Leave a comment if you want!! [Yell at me for putting out angst two days in a row!](sleevesareforlosers.tumblr.com/ask) Now go watch like, a nice vine compilation or something if you're feeling at all upset by this one.


End file.
